


Gravitation

by Macx



Series: Gray Areas [2]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-05-15
Updated: 2005-05-15
Packaged: 2017-10-19 06:42:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/198053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macx/pseuds/Macx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aziraphale tries to deal with the attack, his sudden fear, and the fact that Crowley is a demon - like the thing that nearly killed him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gravitation

His breathing hitched a little as knowing, skillful fingers glided over his wings, caressed feathers and singled out sensitive areas to torment them. Of course it would be torment. Crowley was a demon after all. Aziraphale barely managed to prevent a shudder, which still came out as a brief tremor, when those finger reached a particular area and began to mercilessly exude their knowledge. His recently healed wings seemed to be more sensitive than usual and his whole body was reacting to each and every caress.

A gentle nibble at one shoulder made him start, feeling the wet, hot mouth of his lover do more wonderful things to where the wings were joined to his body. A light scrape of teeth alerted him to the state of the demon, made him acutely aware of those fangs, but he couldn't bring himself to protest. Not when it felt so good.

Crowley hissed a little, aligning his body with the angel's, never stopping the teasing. Aziraphale felt the sharp tips of claws scratch lightly over his side and unconsciously whimpered in both pleasure and a mild dose of fright.

He didn't fear Crowley. He hadn't feared him for a long time. Whatever his demon did to him, he had never been harmed, had never been tormented in any other way than what brought intense pleasure to his existence. But sometimes, in moments when he wasn't completely on top of the world, when he was weakened, the sharp reminder that Crowley was a demon leaked into the haze of pleasure.

Like now.

His injuries had healed, he was whole and almost healthy, but Aziraphale still felt the remaining weakness. He wasn't any stronger than a normal human right now, and if Crowley wanted to take advantage of it… if he…

The memories of the hellish creature he had just barely managed to defeat flooded back and he started to shiver more. The pain had been so bad, the blood staining his hair, his clothes, his wings, flowing freely from deep wounds that he hadn’t been able to heal. Claws had torn into his unprotected form, had made him fall…

Claws… demon claws.

Aziraphale clenched his jaw.

This wasn’t like then; this was warm and loving. This was Crowley. His lover. His partner. There was no pain, just pleasure.

Flat palms stroked over his sides, no claws coming in contact with his vulnerable flesh. There was a soothing murmur and he felt the demon's body blanket him, felt arms wrap around him from behind. A kiss was placed against the nape of his neck, followed by more, loving kisses trailing down the skin between his wings.

Aziraphale shivered again.

"Crowley…" he murmured, not sure what he wanted, what he needed.

"It's okay," came the slightly hoarse voice, inflections of his demonic side leaking through.

It was low and dark and silky, and it promised things… things… The demon came through every time they were together. The eyes were there all the time, hidden behind sunglasses, but the demonic features seemed to sharpen, the black hair even darker, and the claws added danger to each loving caress.

Aziraphale screwed his eyes shut as conflicting emotions overwhelmed him. The voice made him want more, want it now, want it with Crowley. It ignited the familiar fire within, the flames that burned out all rational thought. The flames that seared through him with love.

He loved Crowley.

Deeply.

It felt so right to feel this way.

But the voice also triggered something far more sinister, especially so shortly after his almost-fatal encounter with the creature out to kill him. Another demon; not Crowley.

"It's okay," his demon breathed again, never stopping his caress. “Easy, angel. Relax. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Aziraphale moaned in despair and pleasure. He didn't want the images of his hellish opponent darken what he had with another hellish being; his demon. What they shared was far from pain and agony and torment. It was love, he reminded himself. It wasn't something sinfully forbidden because they both felt it. Crowley had told him once, in the afterglow of an encounter, had shown Aziraphale that what he had seen already was true.

Love from a demon.

For an angel.

Heaven and Hell had no idea how to handle it, so they left it alone.

Aziraphale twisted in the gentle embrace, the wings getting terribly in the way but he managed, and he looked into the undisguised eyes of the other. Yellow, almost glowing golden now, with slit pupils. So alien and demonic, but still so familiar and loved. He couldn't see Crowley any other way. Whatever shape he took, Aziraphale could never see the hellish fiend he should be in him.

He leaned down and kissed the slightly open lips, let his tongue slide into the hot mouth and he brushed along the sharp fangs. His tongue was immediately capture by Crowley's guided safely along the dangerous canines, and the angel felt a rush of need and thankfulness.

Wings quivered and then spread abruptly as demonic hands slid deep into the pristine feathers, tugging gently. It made him whimper with the pleasure the sparks brought.

Crowley gazed at him for a long moment, then licked along the column of his throat and Aziraphale felt goose bumps rise. Together with the hands in his wings, so close to the base of where they joined with his body, the sensations were overwhelming. Fangs grazed his skin again and he shuddered, drawn between removing his vulnerable throat from the dangerous teeth, and wanting more.

A gently nuzzle followed the prickle of danger, and Aziraphale exhaled sharply.

"Zira," Crowley whispered against his skin, the darkness in every breath. "Tell me you want this."

Blue eyes met almost-golden yellow ones and Aziraphale swallowed.

He had wanted Crowley for so long, he had lost track of time. His love for the demon had been slow to develop, taking hurdles like befriending the enemy as well as trusting his enemy first. Then had come affection and fond exasperation at the other being. Finally he had come to realize that he felt more, that he craved Crowley's presence, that he relied on his counterpart to be there, and that he felt agony inside his very soul whenever the demon was in danger or worst, hurt. Crowley had a balancing effect on him, and Aziraphale firmly believed that it was the same the other way around.

The Near-Apocalypse had freed something inside the usually so mild-mannered angel. It had shown him that even though they were immortal, their lives could end. Armageddon wasn't just a biblical reference, to be quoted but never to be experienced. He could lose Crowley forever, and not just to a few decades in Hell. No, permanently. That was what forever meant.

And finally Aziraphale had confessed his love for Crowley to himself. He did love a demon. From deep within his soul, with all his being, and it was a true, pure kind of love.

It had been the beginning of a relationship neither being had ever dreamed of, and though Crowley had fretted over a possible Fall of the angel, it hadn't happened.

Because true love wasn't a sin.

"I want you," Aziraphale now said softly, letting his fingers slide into the midnight black hair. "Only you."

The demonic face looking back at him seemed to shift through several emotions, then the smile was back, darkly promising, almost carnal in its simplicity, and Aziraphale shuddered.

Ever since getting so terribly mauled by the hellish beast he had killed in the end, Crowley had become almost possessive of him. He had been there throughout the close to two days of Aziraphale's recovery, had tried to help him, had openly fretted and cared, and the angel knew that if ever reminded of it, the demon would deny everything. At least while others were present.

Crowley framed his face and pulled the angel down into a kiss, his hands sliding into the blond hair and gently massaging his scalp. Aziraphale hummed with pleasure, the hum turning into a whispered moan of appreciation as Crowley shifted so that their lower bodies touched.

"I won't hurt you, Zira," the demon promised huskily, lips moving against his ear. "Never."

He knew that. Aziraphale let his head sink forward onto one perfectly shaped and muscled shoulder, shivering as those dangerous claws played along his wings again.

Once, just once, Crowley had attacked the angel's wings. It had been way before the Agreement, when they had still fought bitterly, and the resulting healing had been just as painful. Broken wings were the worst that could happen to a celestial being. Healing those bones took a lot of energy and left the victim in question weak and easy prey.

Like right now.

Aziraphale was easy prey and Crowley was a predator.

"You're safe with me," Crowley murmured soothingly, the silky darkness wrapping around the angel's mind like a cool veil.

"I know that," he managed.

"Still you fear me."

The fangs teased again, deliberately brushing over his pulse point. Aziraphale gasped.

"I don't fear you, Crowley. I just…" He stopped, feeling embarrassed.

Crowley rolled on top of him, perched over the slim hips, gazing at him, studying him. Aziraphale swallowed.

"I don't fear you," the angel repeated, firmer this time.

He just feared memories. The demon attack had left him in severe pain, with shredded wings and hours of agony and bad dreams. It had unearthed ancient memories of fighting Crowley, too. They were vague, but they were there.

"Zira…"

He placed a hand over his demon's lips, shushing him. "I don't fear you," Aziraphale said once more. "I want you, Crowley. I love you. I trust you."

The demon sat frozen for a moment, gazing at him with those unreadable features, then a soft chuckle escaped his lips. One clawed finger traced an invisible line along Aziraphale's chest and he inhaled sharply.

"I know you do, angel," Crowley finally said. "Even if you reek of fear because of these." He held up the finger. The claw glinted in the light of the room, then suddenly receded into the slender finger, leaving a perfectly normal, blunt human finger tip.

Aziraphale captured the hand. "Don't," he demanded.

Crowley rarely became all demonic. The eyes were always there, the rest were just add-ons. As he had told Aziraphale once: 'No self-respecting demon goes without claws, fangs and maybe a scale or two'. Crowley himself didn't have scales, but he had the rest.

"It's just… memories. It's not you," the angel added slowly.

"It was me. Once."

"That's over. History."

"It was me," Crowley repeated, voice very quiet.

Aziraphale pulled him down by the hand he held, their lips colliding almost brutally.

"Erase those memories," he demanded harshly and caught another kiss.

Crowley snarled softly, a low rumble rising deep within his chest, and Aziraphale felt himself shiver in response. He had never asked his lover to hide who he was. Crowley had never shied away from his angelic aura either, and the angel knew that demons weren't comfortable with it either. Crowley took it in a stride, had accustomed to it over the millennia. It was like adjusting one's immune system, the angel mused dimly.

He would never demand of Crowley to be human in their love-making.

Maybe he loved playing with danger. Maybe it was just the way their love was expressed. Maybe it was simple need, in whatever form, and this need included loving this man, this demon. His demon.

Hands ran up and down his body, evoking little shivers, making the sensitive skin tingle all over. Angels were sensitive and very sensuous creatures. Crowley always liked to play with that sensitivity; today was no different.

Aziraphale mewled softly as he was teased mercilessly, as hot spots were manipulated and erupted into wild sparks. He retaliated whenever given the chance, whenever there was an opportunity, though Crowley was working hard on turning his mind into a gooey mass with what he did.

Lightly biting one nipple had the demon hiss in pleasure and the eyes glowed with an inner fervor, with fire that stoked Aziraphale's. A strong hand wrapped around his arousal and tugged gently and before he could really whisper his needs, Crowley's mouth was upon him.

It was hot and moist and so very, very good. It was heaven and hell and everything between. It was Crowley and it was him, and it was both of them together as one. It was divine and hellish, it was far more than he would ever have thought of them being able to feel together.

Gasping his lover's name, the ecstasy of his release hit him, and he shuddered with it. The very first time had floored him, had left him weak and panting, totally limp, and with a sated looking Crowley kneeling between his legs; licking his lips like a large cat.

Like right now.

Eyes gleamed, a moist tongue licked over the red lips, and Aziraphale shivered with the echoes of his climax. Black wings curled over the sinewy form, so dark they seemed to extinguish all light, suck it all up and refuse to release it ever again. Demonic and sinful, evil and foreboding. Aziraphale looked into the golden eyes, smiling.

He didn't see the demon; he saw the fallen angel. He saw Crowley.

He saw what he loved.

And he invited him in.

 

 

Aziraphale shuddered with pleasure under the ministrations, felt Crowley deep within him, hard and pulsing, felt the demon tremble with the unreleased emotions he harbored himself. The devilish mouth distracted him briefly from the torment of having his lover be so motionless and he bucked up against Crowley, needing more.

Aziraphale didn't want slow and gentle; not when he felt this indescribable need himself. Not when he wanted his lover to erase the pain and the memories of blood and gore and agony, of burning hot fire scorching his wings and tearing him apart.

Crowley was all those things, too. But he was also passionate and powerful in his ways, intense and possessive, and he was so hot and overwhelming, wiping out the cool that was Aziraphale.

"Crowley…" he pleaded. "Please…"

"Easy, angel," came the husky whisper. "Easy."

Eyes that now glowed a deep golden, fire licking in their depths, promised him that heat, that overwhelming power. Aziraphale arched into each thrust. His wings had long since disappeared, more a hindrance in their size than a help while making love, though Crowley loved their sensitive spots. 

The angel cried out. No pain, no blood, no agony. Just pure and utter pleasure, a release that wiped out everything, that lodged only Crowley in his mind.

His demon. His lover. His. His alone.

He clung to the other form, riding it out, feeling the coiled muscles underneath his touch, and knew that Crowley was reaching his own limits. Aziraphale felt it in every thrust, in every breath, in every shiver.

"Let go," he murmured faintly into the ear closest to him.

Sharp fangs sank into his shoulder, eliciting a brief moan from the angelic being, and Aziraphale's eyes slid shut at the second wave of utter pleasure. A tongue licked over the twin marks, a gentle kiss was placed onto the wound, and an apology was whispered.

Aziraphale smiled softly. He knew the urge to bite came sometimes; to mark him, to show other demons to keep their hands off. There would never be anyone but Crowley, but his demon's instincts were there. The pain was brief, always followed by pleasure, and the wounds healed almost instantly – if he let them.

The angel buried his hands into the shock of black hair as his demon nuzzled the tender spot, peppering it with feather-light kisses.

"I'm fine, dear," he murmured lazily. "Thank you."

Thank you for caring.

He was held in strong but gentle arms, the last echoes of his release coursing through him, coupled with the memory of Crowley's own. It hadn't been their first time, but just as intense.

I'm not afraid of you, Aziraphale thought. I love you.

He sought out one hand and lazily ran a playful finger over the sharp nails.

You're not my nightmare. You're my demon.

He didn't know if anything of this, his thoughts and emotions, could be felt by his lover, but by the way Crowley almost-purred, it had leaked at least a little bit.

"My angel," came the relaxed murmur.

Aziraphale smiled more. "Yours," he whispered the confirmation.

Yours alone.

 

°

 

Ever since the chaos of the Near-Apocalypse neither of their respective bosses had called on them. They had been left alone, forgotten, in this corner of the world. Maybe they had truly fallen from grace, or in Crowley's case fallen from the bottom rung of the career ladder of Hell and swiped under a dirty rug.

Aziraphale didn't care. For the first time in millennia he didn't care. He had averted a disaster and he knew that Above couldn't possibly be happy, but he didn't care. He and Crowley had waited for anyone to show up, for some kind of wrist slapping or worse. And it had to be worse, Crowley had told him.

But nothing happened. Nothing at all. Crowley had even tempted his fate by not sending down a report to get any kind of reaction, but there had been none.

Forgotten.

Aziraphale couldn't believe it at first, but since no new orders came, he went about business as usual, and so did Crowley.

With the slight difference of their new relationship.

Even that hadn't launched some kind of reaction from either Above or Below.

Tumbleweed and crickets, Crowley had only snickered.

They were utterly alone.

Except for each other.

Aziraphale found no fault in continuing his work, even though he had no orders to do so. Neither did he have any to stop.

"Gray zone," he had remarked over a glass of wine one evening, snuggled up against the firm warmth that was his demon.

Crowley had been grooming his wings, something that nine times out of eight led to sex. Not that Aziraphale minded. Sex was… interesting. Not with humans, mind you, but with Crowley. No angel in his right mind would ever sleep with a human, but there was no such rule against demons and angels getting it on, though aside from the two of them, there probably wasn't any demon or angel trying it.

Shame, Aziraphale thought faintly. It was… nice. More than nice. It was overwhelming.

They were in a gray zone. Somewhere between good and evil, black and white. Neither fit in any more. They had gone against their superiors, had averted Armageddon, and finally, in a kind of last attempt to really, really mess up, they had developed a relationship.

Aziraphale had to grin now, playing with a strand of pitch black hair. Inquisitive eyes gazed at him. He looked into the yellow depth, noticed the glimmer of gold, the faint traces of lust, the not so faint and rather pronounced presence of love. Aziraphale smiled at that. Demon eyes filled with love. So much of a contradiction.

But then… everything about them was. So much contradiction, so much not what they were supposed to be.

Aziraphale traced the outline of one eye, then down the straight nose, over the high cheekbones, to the lips, until his finger as captured by that moist heat inside Crowley's mouth. A very versatile tongue brushed over the digit and he shivered a little.

His finger was finally released and the demon gazed quizzically at him. "Whatcha thinking?"

"How strange it is that we were simply cast aside," Aziraphale answered honestly.

"You think that?" Crowley snorted. "I doubt it. They're just waiting. Watching and waiting."

"Waiting for what?"

A shrug. "I don't know and I don't care. But they're watching, Zira, believe me."

"I would have expected inquiries into my reasons for loving you," the angel went on. "Maybe even some kind of… sentence."

Black wings rustled and settled over him, a stark contrast to the pale skin and blond hair. But Aziraphale loved them, loved their color, their darkness, the silky sensuality of each and every feather as they touched his skin.

"Do you want to get punished?" Crowley demanded roughly.

"No! Of course not!"

"Then stop thinking about it!" the demon commanded, voice harsh. "Stop thinking what might be. Maybe we slid off their radar, maybe it's really that gray zone you mentioned, but whatever it is, I don't want it to end. I…" He swallowed, the snake eyes closing briefly. "I need you, Zira."

As always those un-demonic words made the angel feel elation and warm, a curl of heat forming deep down inside. Crowley rarely said those words, but when he did, Aziraphale couldn't help but let his emotions show. Kissing his demon, putting all those emotion into the contact, he did as requested. He pushed those thoughts about why they had been left alone by both forces of Above and Below away.

Hands roamed over his body, touched him here or there, and Aziraphale shuddered as a nipple was flicked, and then slightly twisted. He whimpered when it was done to the second one, leaving him aching for more.

"Crowley…" he murmured.

"Yes, angel?"

Aziraphale felt pleasure race through him at the name. Only Crowley did that. Only his voice, in that tone, made him want to love this man even more – if that was at all possible.

Crowley's hand was on his neck, one thumb rubbing over the sensitive skin, making him almost purr.

"You're insatiable."

Crowley smiled, baring fangs that only showed in rare moments. Defense, attack and… well, those moment. Aziraphale thought it was simply severe emotional reactions.

"I'm a demon," he whispered silkily. "It's what I do." A wicked light shone in those inhuman eyes.

Aziraphale smiled. Crowley was a lot more than just that. He was complex and complicated, just like their relationship was. Just like it was unique.

"Yes, that's what you are," he murmured, snuggling close, needing that physical contact.

After what had happened, he needed it more than anything else. They might just spend the rest of the day in bed, maybe the rest of the week. They hadn't left the bedroom for quite a while after their first time. Aziraphale still felt remnants of a blush when thinking back to their… antics. Crowley was quite inventive… he was a demon after all.

Now they just lay together, cocooned in white and black feathers, intermingling and sliding so naturally together.

"Crowley?" he murmured.

"Hmpf?"

"What would you do it they really have forgotten about us?"

There was a rough chuckle and Crowley tangled his fingers in the blond hair. "They haven't."

"What if?"

"Zira…"

"Humor me."

Another chuckle. "I always do."

Aziraphale shot his demon an exasperated look. "Crowley…"

Amusement danced in the demonic eyes and Crowley kissed his nose. Aziraphale twitched his nose in mock annoyance.

"Angel, they know where we are. They just choose to ignore us for now."

Aziraphale furrowed his brow in thought.

"As to what I'd do. Well, the same I do now."

Another frown.

"Be here. With you."

"With me?"

"Yes, angel, with you. Where else should I be?"

And where else did Aziraphale want to be? he mused. He liked the book shop, he liked the quaint little town, and he did good work here.

He smiled a little, not answering his demon.

"You're a bad influence," Crowley whispered, amusement in his voice.

"Angels are good influence, my dear," he replied automatically.

"Not this angel."

"Must be your bad influence."

Crowley laughed. "Haven't lost my touch then."

Aziraphale smiled again, closing his eyes. He wondered if they were truly still the beings they had once been. Surely not. Six thousand years of intermingling with the enemy had changed them. Six thousand years of friendship, of being among humanity, of being out of touch with their respective kinds… it had changed them.

Was he still an angel by true definition?

Was Crowley truly a demon?

Or were they something else? Was this the reason why they had been left to their own devices? Did anyone even feel responsible for them any more?

Those thoughts whirled around his mind as he lay in his demon's arms, felt Crowley's breathing even out. He nestled into the black feathers and closed his eyes as well, allowing himself to drift off.

Whatever he was, he was it together with Crowley. And it felt good. So incredibly good.

 

* * *

 

He had been watching them for a long time. He had smiled at their growing friendship, actually approved of it, and He hadn’t really been surprised to see their development finally reach that point of no return, that critical moment where everything was either destroyed or would take a giant leap.

It had leaped. They had leaped. And they had landed safely, so much closer than before, their very existence growing so very blurry in every sense of the word. He had watched his angel’s aura change abruptly, then smooth out and become… different. Not that He minded. Aziraphale was still an angel, but he had become more on a deeper level.

“That’s one of your Greater Plans?” a voice interrupted his musings.

He gave the new-arrival a mild smile. “It might be.”

“You don’t even know?”

“They do look good together.”

A snort of laughter, dark and almost sinister. “From your mouth that sounds almost dirty. I see you didn’t let him Fall.”

“Love is no sin.”

“Lust is. Look at them. If that isn’t lust.” A black eyebrow wriggled suggestively.

“It is love,” He insisted.

“Suit yourself.” A contemplative look passed through the black eyes. “So, you gonna ignore them?”

“Will you?”

“He’s of no use to me like that.”

“You could punish him.”

Another snort, this time tinged with disbelief. “More trouble than it’s worth. Crowley always was.”

“I thought that was his job description,” He pointed out with a fine smile.

That got Him a glare.

"You did send someone after one of mine," He finally pointed out almost amicably.

"I didn't. It was some overly ambitious minion who I had taken care of."

"Ah. I see."

There was a moment of silence, then, "A demon loving an angel. How disgustingly good.”

“Or divinely bad.”

“You always had a strange sense of humor.”

A soft chuckle.

“And you think it’s natural for them to… love each other?”

He shrugged. “They might just as well. They both have always defied the rules.”

A grumble. “Tell me about it.”

“Do I have to?”

The other groaned. “Very strange sense of humor,” he repeated.

Silence descended and both watched the sleeping pair, black and white wings curled around each other.

“I do believe they warrant our attention,” He finally said, “but not overly so. It might be interesting to keep an eye on them. They are quite unique.”

“Uh-huh. If you say so.” The other man stuck his hands into his pockets and swayed back and forth on his feet, looking a bit bored. “You fancy a tea?” he changed the topic.

“Green?”

“Black.”

“Of course.”

A smirk. “Of course.”

Both sauntered off, one still with his hands in his pockets. They disappeared into the distance.

 

 

Down on earth, Aziraphale and Crowley slept on, unaware of the fact that someone was paying attention, even if it was only out of curiosity and with little intention to change anything.


End file.
